35
The Last Book
by Ann Malaspina
Prickly vines twisted over the old red shed in Grandpa's backyard. Moss crept over the steps, and the latch was rusty. Alex pushed the door with his shoulder three times. At last, it sprung open.
He had always been curious about the shed, hidden behind Grandpa's ancient jeep. “Stay out of there. It’s dangerous,” Mom would say on their visits to Grandpa's every summer. Grandpa changed the subject whenever Alex asked him about it. This afternoon, Mom was taking a nap and Grandpa was swimming at the Old Timers Pool. If Alex hurried, they would never know a thing.
The air smelled musty, as if no one had breathed it for years. Alex squinted in the darkness. A broken wheelbarrow, a rake, and a pail was all he could see. Gramps had used the shed in the Old Time, when he raised vegetables in his garden. People didn’t plant vegetables outside anymore. They used greenhouses with solar-powered sprinklers and lights. That way, they didn't have to worry about late frosts or dry spells killing their crops. Still, Gramps always complained about the vegetables in his weekly food delivery. "What would I give for a sun-ripe tomato and an ear of sweet corn fresh from the garden!" he'd say.
Just as Alex turned to go, a box on a shelf caught his eye. As he reached for it, a spider scurried over his hand. He quickly brushed it away. Spiders gave him the creeps.
The box wasn't large or heavy, and it was easy to open. Inside was a strange object—a stack of paper between two pieces of cardboard. Was it a book? Alex had never seen one before.